


forked no lightning

by vilelithe (BroPorrim)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ace Thorin, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Aro Dís, F/M, Generally confused but interested Bilbo, M/M, Multi, No Incest, No Sex, Polyamorous Bilbo, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroPorrim/pseuds/vilelithe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins learns the true meaning of sharing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forked no lightning

**Author's Note:**

> This is (almost) entirely self-indulgent. mudkippy and I have been talking about Dis/Bilbo and this is just one of the permutations.
> 
> Anyway. Love that polyamory.

Two wagons had gotten stuck just beneath the great stone gates, causing the traffic to all but cease flowing. Worse still, Thorin was lost to the crowd, and Fili was nowhere in sight. With the two of them missing in action, no doubt off to shake hands and gain favor, it fell upon Bilbo to do the heavy lifting. The cart-drivers were arguing when he located them, and when their oxen rolled the wagons through the gates and into the wide entry hall of Erebor, they were arguing still. Soon, though, even the sounds of their shouting were lost, indistinguishable in the dwarvish din. Bilbo was merely pleased that the flow and order had been restored.

The hall was a hot crush of dwarves and their belongings, the last of the survivors from Ered Luin finally returning to their home. Their arrival was met with great joy as long-lost families and friends were reunited. As Bilbo knew all too well, though, dwarvish reunions were a dangerous thing. If Bilbo heard the phrase “by my beard” again, followed by the dull _thud_ of two foreheads colliding, he thought he might scream. It was all far too hectic for his tastes.

Somewhere in the crowd, Bilbo knew, the royal family of Erebor was having their own reunion. He would have felt bad for missing it, but that problem with the carts really needed to be taken care of, as they were creating a quite the hold-up, and they really wanted all of the travelers in by nightfall. Besides, he would have time to meet Dis later.

And he definitely wasn’t nervous about it.

Now intent on finding Thorin again, or at the very least a familiar face, he sidestepped a pair of dwarrowdams hauling a chest between them. It was a near miss, and he reprimanded himself for not paying attention to his surroundings. Cursing the whole race under his breath, he pushed to the center of the action, sure that that was where he would find the king.

Still, Thorin was not in sight. Dori was kind enough to take a moment to tell Bilbo that he had seen Thorin with Dwalin and Dis near the middle of the hall. Next Bilbo found Fili, who said the same thing. Balin said that they were near the gates, though, while Bombur’s wife informed Bilbo that she had seen Thorin just a few feet away no more than five minutes ago. Bilbo thanked her, and cursed dwarves again.

Shoving through the crowd was impossibly difficult, as most dwarves did not see him, and he had to ensure that his toes were not trod on by their large, heavy boots. No amount of shouting (polite or not) could grab their attention, either, so he was left to stealing through gaps and around carts on light feet and hoping for the best.

Finally he sees Thorin, his familiar broad back draped dark hair wound in an unfamiliar braid. Thorin often left his hair loose but for the braids signifying his relationships and rank. They were a fair bit more ornate than they were during the quest, but nothing so wild as Dori’s. For important occasions, Bilbo had seen all of his hair bound, but it was not often that Thorin wore it in such a style. He thought little of it, though. What could be more important than a reunion with family? Thorin had spent a long time fussing in front of the mirror that morning (so long, in fact, that Bilbo left him to it and went to find something for second breakfast, instead.)

Thorin was shouting orders, bellowing to be heard over the thunderous noise of the entry hall. The acoustics in the hall always did strange things to one’s voice, Bilbo had learned, and today it made Thorin’s voice sound higher than usual.

“There you are,” said Bilbo, exasperated. “I had thought that I was lost for good, and would have to find a new dwarf family to take me in. I imagine you let you let Fili and Kili drag you off?”

Thorin turned to look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be. I know how you are. And, more importantly, how they are. But I’ve been looking up and down the hall for you. It seems you’re in two places at once today. Would that there really were two of you, perhaps we’d finally have the time we wish for.”

“Yes, that is a shame,” Thorin said, confusion still writ in the line between his eyebrows, an expression that Bilbo misread.

“You look troubled,” said Bilbo. Taking Thorin’s hand in his, he began to lead him from the crowd. “Come, let’s take that crown off for a few minutes.” Though when Bilbo’s eyes drifted up, he saw that Thorin’s head was bare. “Did you forget it again? The crown? No worries, I can run up and fetch it. I’d be glad for the excuse, really. You’d be doing me a favor. It’s very hectic down here, and my toes have been trod on no less than seven times already!”

“Yes, it seems I have forgotten my crown,” Thorin said distantly, though he was smiling. Bilbo tutted. Last night must not have been as restful for Thorin as it was for Bilbo. Perhaps nerves had gotten to him. A break would be good for Thorin. He would not be missed for a few minutes.

The moment they were alone, Bilbo had Thorin against the wall, relishing the startled sound of surprise he drew from between Thorin’s lips. Blood pounding in his ears, he surged up and pressed his lips to Thorin’s, drinking him in like a man dying. His lips had been chapped lately, but it seemed that with the warming weather they were faring better. Thorin’s hands scrabbled for purchase on Bilbo’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he made a pleased hum in the back of his throat.

Bilbo loved that sound, loved the way it seemed to reverberate in his bones. It only served as encouragement. He nipped at Thorin’s lower lip, a parting little tease as he pulled away.

Breathless, Thorin panted, puffs of air that stirred Bilbo’s hair against his forehead. “Is this how all halflings greet their honored guests?” Thorin asked, but the voice was off. “If so, perhaps I ought to pay a visit to this Shire I’ve heard so much about.”

Bilbo jolted back as though he had been burned, the voice so at odds with what he was expecting. Panicked, his eyes darted over the dwarf’s face, picking out all of the minute differences between this dwarf and his.. The voice was deep, yes, but not so deep as Thorin’s; a clear, striking alto to contrast Thorin’s deep and rumbling voice. The bits of hair that had fallen away from their intricately woven braids were loose curls, not waves, and they were more brown than black. The dwarf’s lips were too plump, their skin darker, though the nose was the same, distinctive nose that Bilbo has learned was a _Durin_ nose.

“I’m sorry-“ tumbled out. “I. _Who?_ ”

The dwarf laughed. It was bright and sharp and lacked the warmth of Thorin’s, but it was close enough to be a twin—no, not a twin—a sibling to Thorin’s. “Dis?”

“The one and only,” she replied, inclining her head. Her eyes were the same color as Thorin’s, and they were alight with mirth and mischief. In that moment Bilbo realized that she is very beautiful and very dangerous.

“Lady Dis,” Bilbo stammered, only just remembering his manners. “My apologies, I mistook you for—“

“My brother?” she said. “It happens very often, Master Hobbit. Neither of us take offense, not any more.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, for lack of any other response. Her eyes gleamed.

“Of course,” she repeated, grinning wolfishly. “If you’re feeling adventurous, I’m sure you could find many, _many_ differences between my brother and I.” She offered up her arm, and Bilbo took it, steering her dumbly back towards the entry hall.

“Well, that’s only to be expected,” said Bilbo, still reeling from their encounter. “Brothers and sisters can be like day and night.” Based on what he had heard about Dis, that was very much the case.

“Still, we can find a certain harmony. A compromise, if you will. Thorin and I have always worked well together, you know,” she said, voice laden with a hidden meaning that Bilbo couldn’t deduce. “For example, when we were young, we were always very good at _sharing._ I’d say we still are.” Her voice had dropped to a near purr, and Bilbo was glad when they entered the entry hall and she began to talk business. “I understand that you’re the one who made peace between your guilds. I admit that our arrival may be—what is the Westron phrase? Ah, stirring the bird hive?”

“Bees’ nest,” Bilbo corrected automatically, already dreading more inter guild drama.

Dis scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “Ach. They all have wings. We don’t have so many words for flying things. Only the ones that like to kill us. Ah! There he is, the bastard. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s been avoiding me since I arrived. Thorin!”

Thorin—the real one—turned at the sound of her voice. Smiles were a rare delight from him, and he spared one for his sister and Bilbo. He grinned warmly as they approached, Dis’ larger arm laid over Bilbo’s in a cruel mockery of the appropriate gesture. “Thorin,” she said warmly. “I found your halfling for you. Rather, he found me. You never warned me of their strange customs. Were I king, I would have picked a different welcoming party, one with a more dwarvish sense of _hospitality_ but I’ve chosen to take that as an invitation.”

“Customs?” Thorin asked, casting a glance at Bilbo, searching for an explanation. Bilbo simply colored, gaze ducking away from his. Later, he would tell Thorin about his mistake and offer an apology. Infidelity was highly frowned upon in dwarvish society, and Bilbo only hoped that Thorin would understand that it was a mistake. “An invitation to what?”

“To _share_ , nadad” she said. Dwalin choked on air, and Bofur’s eyebrows crept up, but Fili seemed as lost as Bilbo did.

“ _Namad_ ,” Thorin hissed through clenched teeth. “I would be honored if you would join Bilbo and myself after dinner this evening. It’s been so long, I’m eager to hear of your travels.”

“I’d be delighted,” Dis said indulgently, before swanning off to direct her people.

* * *

Making tea had always calmed Bilbo down. There was a mechanical comfort to it and a warmth, and it had always settled his nerves.

That night, though, he fidgeted nervously as he waited for the water to come a boil. Dis and Thorin were laughing behind him while he watched the kettle and worried at his lip. He told Thorin about his mistake earlier, but didn’t have the courage to ask whether Dis had been teasing him.

Now she sat on the couch beside her brother, their absurdly small feet propped up on the table. Through the mirror mounted above the mantle, he could see their twin laughs, the fall of their hair and the curve of their lips. They were stunning, lounging in idle repose while Bilbo orbited them, fetching tea and saucers and a tray for all of it. He could feel Dis’ eyes follow him, and sometimes even Thorin’s, when their conversation dropped so low that he could only hear a dull murmuring.

“It’s very rude to whisper behind someone’s back, you know,” he admonished. The kettle began to steam, then whistle, then scream as he pulled it away from the fire.

“We were simply discussing something,” Thorin says. “A… personal matter.”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Bilbo raised an eyebrow and began to pour them tea.

“That was as much of an indication to continue as you’re going to get, brother. This one’s a tough nut to crack,” said Dis.

“I know that,” Thorin said waspishly. “I’ve known him for longer than you have.”

“Brother, we both know that I’m the more perceptive of us.”

“While I got our mother’s famous beauty?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Bilbo set tea cups before each of them. In their hurry to empty a seat on the sofa for him, they rammed into each other in the middle and began to bicker anew. “The King Under the Mountain and his sister,” Bilbo scoffed, gesturing to them with a grand sweep of his arm. Dis and Thorin immediately parted, leaving him an open spot between them. It felt like a trap and an invitation, and he knew better than to take the seat.

He took it.

Settled between them he could feel the sheer _warmth_ rolling off of them in waves, far hotter than any fire. Suddenly his cravat seemed a bit too tight, and perhaps it really was warm in here? He seemed so overdressed, compared to the two of them in their plain woolen clothes, their daytime fineries shed for this occasion. Still, he dared not lose a single layer, and he couldn’t figure out why.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you’re free to dress down, you know,” Thorin said. By the look on his face, he was being genuine, too. “This looks tight,” he continued, fingering Bilbo’s cravat, “may I help you with it?”

Bilbo was never the sort to shy from displays of affection, no matter the audience. However, with Dis’ eyes so firmly affixed to the back of his head that he could feel the weight of her gaze, he thought better of it. There was something going on, something he was missing, and he would not yet let his guard down until he knew what it was.

“I’m perfectly capable of undressing—removing is myself, thank you,” he said, without much poison. He loosened the piece, then undid it altogether, setting it aside on the table. “So, how were your travels?”

“Uncomfortable, and often wet. We met autumn storm after autumn storm.” She gave Thorin a pointed look. “I _told_ you it would be better to come in the summer.”

“We were not prepared for your arrival until recently, Dis,” Thorin said brusquely, taking a sip of his tea.

“But it was not all bad,” Dis continued, as though she hadn’t heard her brother. “We were able to track down and slay several roving bands of orcs, giving some of our younger warriors a chance to prove themselves. And we made excellent speed despite the weather.”

She smiled, and Bilbo found it brilliant. None could say that she wasn’t beautiful, and as he looked closer he could find more and more differences _and_ similarities. It was the little things that distinguished them and the little things that made them alike, and there was a lovely contradiction there. A small, selfish part of Bilbo longed for the chance to compare them side by side for as long as he wished.

Bilbo smiled politely. “I’m glad you found your way here safely. If there is anything I can do to make you and your people more comfortable here, please let me know.”

“I’ll begin a list, then, Master Baggins. My people have traveled far and left their homes behind. Any assistance I can get in making them feel welcome would be helpful,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll have much to discuss in the coming days, but I feel tonight would be better for building a relationship—a friendship—upon which we can work.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Lady Dis,” Thorin said. “Bilbo was instrumental in settling the Iron Hills portion of the dragons’ survivors back into the mountain. He is adept at such things. More so than I.”

“And thank goodness for that!” she laughed. “We’re fortunate to have such an able Consort, aren’t we, Thorin?”

Well over an hour later, Dis finally excused herself, claiming (and rightly so) to be exhausted by her travels. “She finds you comely,” Thorin said casually after the door slid shut. Together they were stacking their dirty things on the tray. Bilbo found that Dis had forgotten a scarf on the ground, and tried to remember whether she had been wearing it before or not.

“Is that so?” Bilbo asked, unsure of how else to respond. He draped the scarf over an armchair and picked up a tea-stained saucer.

Thorin nodded. “What do you think of her?”

“I think she is beautiful, but not so much as you,” said Bilbo, leaning in to peck Thorin’s cheek. The scrape of his beard against Bilbo’s lip echoed in phantom sensations as Bilbo picked up the entire clattering tray. Thorin had not grown his beard out much since the retaking of Erebor. Enough to thicken it and please the elders, but it was still in a mourning fashion. Many had been lost in the battle, after all.

Thorin seemed insistent, as though trying to drive home a point. He watched as Bilbo brought the tray to the door and set it outside, bidding the guards stationed outside a good evening. When the door was shut again he said, “we’ve often been told we look alike.”

“But not so alike that I can’t tell the difference,” Bilbo countered. He clapped his hands together as though ridding himself of some unseen dirt, pleased with the clean-up job he had done. Not a crumb nor a stain. “Your hair is darker, and you’re taller, for instance. You look a proper dwarf king, the one whom I am very much in love with, and she is your sister. A proper dwarf _princess_ ”

“But she has things that I do not,” Thorin said. “She is willing to do things I am not.” _Ah._ So that was what that was about? From the beginning of the quest, Bilbo had known that Thorin was, as the dwarves called it, “like stone.” In the Shire, they simply called them “not the child-bearing type.” Bilbo never knew if it was a source of insecurity for Thorin.

“I can think of a few things, but I’m not exactly starving for a good tumble. Thorin, you can’t tell me you’re jealous of your sister,” Bilbo said, frowning.

Thorin looked surprised, and shook his head. “No, no. The opposite, truly,” he said.

“The opposite. What does that mean?”

“I simply meant to say that if you wished to pursue her—in that manner, I mean—then I do not mind,” Thorin said.

“Oh. Wait, excuse me?” Bilbo said. To say he was surprised by this development would be an understatement, but he took it all in traditional Baggins stride. “Really?”

Thorin nodded. “It is an… arrangement that has worked for us before, I am accustomed to it,” he said. “Dis only asked that I broach the subject with you, you need only think on it.”

Bilbo nodded as he changed into sleep clothes. “Well, I’ll certainly consider it.”

And consider it he did.

* * *

He had just taken his leave of Fili and Kili when Dis found him. She strode to his side and walked beside him in silence, dipping her head in greeting. It was up to Bilbo to begin the conversation, it seemed. “Hello, Lady Dis,” he said. “I hope you’ve found your new apartments to your liking. Please, do not hesitate to ask if you find anything lacking.”

She nodded, watching him with her heavy-lidded eyes. “Thank you, Master Baggins. You’ve been nothing but accommodating. I only find that when the nights grow cold, a chill steals into the room. And without my sons, I’m so _lonely_.” Fili and Kili lived in their own apartments, but there was an extra room in Bilbo and Thorin’s.

Bilbo shoved his hands into his waistcoat pocket, clearing his throat thoughtfully. “Well, I’d be glad to see what I can do to help,” he said. “I was hoping to find you, really. I’d like a word, if you’ve a moment.”

“For the king’s consort?” she drawled. “Always. I was on my way to visit those glass gardens of yours. Perhaps you would accompany me?”

“I was hoping to find somewhere more private. I wish to discuss more personal matters,” Bilbo said. “I will only need a moment of your time.”

“I only wish to please, my lord,” she said.

“Then you can start with calling me Bilbo. Goodness knows the rest of my friends do.” She offered her arm and he took it, though he felt ridiculous. She was so much taller than he was. Her hands were covered with scars, white lines and burn scars. They were callused, rough like her brother’s.

“I’m glad to know you think of me as a friend,” she said. They came upon an abandoned council room, and Bilbo whispered the password in his clumsy khuzdul. Fine-made Dwarvish doors were nearly invisible to those who did not know they were there, and Erebor was filled with them. Luckily, Bilbo had some experience with them, though each password was different and he found it hard to remember which belonged to which door.

This one he knew well, though. The door swung open, and Dis led the way in. She closed it behind them.

It was hung with rich tapestries, which Bilbo had aired out himself over the freshly remade battlements. They depicted a great battleground, strewn with the wreckage of Orcs and Wargs, dwarvish heroes of old standing proud amongst the carnage. Thorin had had it placed in the council room to remind dwarves, elves, and men alike of the glory and might of Erebor. It also helped that Thranduil despised the pieces.

Dis took a seat at the foot of the table, staring down its expanse at the large, ornate bench that Bilbo and Thorin shared during meetings. Bilbo took the seat to her right. “So, what did you wish to discuss? I must admit I’m very curious, considering it’s a _personal_ matter.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You know, Thorin is far more subtle than you, and he came out and _told_ me about this,” he huffed. “But I would be amenable to the idea.”

“Which idea is that?” she asked, batting her lashes. “The one in which I satisfy those needs you cannot find in your marriage bed?”

“Don’t say it like that!” he squeaked.

She laughed, clapping him on the back. “Ah, I like you, Baggins. I’m glad I don’t need to play the coy and blushing maiden any longer.”

Fifteen minutes later, they emerged from the council room, giggling and blushing like youths climbing from a hayloft. Bilbo’s hair was a wreck, and Dis had to straighten out the circlet that identified his station as Consort.

“I’ll come to see you again tonight, if you’d like,” she said, straightening out her clothes. “I doubt Thorin would mind giving you up for an hour or so.”

“We shall see,” Bilbo said, wondering whether he would.

In the end, Thorin didn’t mind one bit.

* * *

The beginning of their relationship marked the beginning of long, hectic, pleasant days. Thorin was a dutiful partner before Dis had ever come along, but redoubled his efforts now that she was involved with his hobbit. Once Dis was moved into the royal apartments, Bilbo would go to bed with one dwarf in the evening and wake up with another, or sometimes both. Often Dis would tire him out at night and wake him up in the morning, and he would fall asleep whispering sweet nothings into Thorin’s ear.

Another thing Bilbo learned was that the Durin siblings were competitive. This he knew from watching Fili and Kili, whose own sibling rivalry had only grown stronger in those days of watchful peace. He had not expecting it from the King Under the Mountain, though it was certainly true. Bilbo was so often lavished with gifts that he was afraid he would have to begin refusing them.

Each sibling tried to outdo the other in the most dazzling display of passive aggressive one-upmanship Middle Earth would ever see. First came a practical gift, a dirk polished to a high shine. Then came the sword, from Dis, larger than Bilbo with a handle encrusted with gems. Thorin’s next gift was a pipe, made of an exotic dark wood and inlayed with gold and mother of pearl. Next came the little grey kitten with a cloth-of-gold collar and a silver bell. That one he received happily enough, though when Thorin came home with a puppy, he told them no more animals. (He couldn’t bear to send the dog away, and for all of its long life it slept by the hearth and ran at his side through busy streets.)

The gifts continued coming, some more practical than the rest. Bilbo could hardly complain about them, though sometimes he thought it a waste of royal gold. But a barrel of Longbottom leaf was the latest gift, and one he’d accepted well. He couldn’t complain about that. He’d been sure to show his gratitude to Dis the night before, and now _she_ was the one who felt indebted to him.

They were attentive partners the both of them, doting when his mood was good, _suffocating_ when it wasn’t. Today they’d been bickering with each other in the council hall, rather than using their combined force against a pair of old, uptight merchants. Bilbo thought that the old courtiers were just that, _old_ and should hardly have been paid attention to but to meet their basest needs respectfully. Thorin insisted that with age came wisdom. Dis thought they were old fashioned, but still valuable.

Instead of solving the mechants’ issues, they’d started their own, leaving Bilbo to try and solve both issues. The merchants were easier to appease. Dis and Thorin were arguing like children about who got to spend more time with him, and he thought it better to slip out quietly (hobbits were very good at that) and let them solve their problems themselves.

He was wandering the halls, his pouch full and his pipe in hand, searching for a quiet place to hide and catch his breath. Unfortunately, trouble found him in the form of two princes, who looked both bored and guilty.

“Uncle Bilbo!” they cried, nearly barreling into him. They lifted him bodily and dragged him into a less trafficked passage, Fili pressing his finger to his lips and _shoosh_ ing.

He played along like a dutiful uncle until they let him go, then rounded on them. “Aren’t you both supposed to be in lessons?” he asked. They looked guilty, shuffling their feet.

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to be at the small court?” Kili asked.

Bilbo looked guilty and began shuffling his feet as well.

“We won’t tell if you won’t,” Fili said, grinning.

“Very well,” Bilbo acquiesced. “Why did you leave?”

“Balin fell asleep,” Fili explained.

“And some Mirkwood elves are here, so Dwalin wasn’t paying attention to where I was, since I was shooting with them,” said Kili.

“Why did you leave?” Fili asked. “Was it _’amad_? Or our _’adadith?_? Are they treating you right?”

“It’s both of them, though of course they’re treating me well. They’ve just gotten intense today, is all.”

“Ah,” said Kili understandingly. “Say no more. If we see them, we’ll cover for you.”

“And if _you_ see Balin or Dwalin, I trust you’ll do the same for us,” said Fili.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but nodded. They made him shake on it before he was released, and by then he knew where to go.

The glass gardens were built into the side of the mountain, Thorin’s wedding gift to him. There was one on either side of the mountain, to catch rising and the setting sun. Bilbo found his way to the western garden, where he often went to catch the sunset and a few moments’ peace. It also had his favorite bench, a gift from Thorin, modeled after the bench he used to smoke on out front of Bag End.

When he arrived, one of the caretakers, a bright young dwarf who had been taken with the gardens when they were first built, greeted him cheerfully. He returned the greeting in stumbled khuzdul, then excused himself to watch the sunset.

As the day bled into night in a spectacular sunset, Bilbo puffed on his pipe and felt the day’s stress melt from his shoulders. Sunlight-gilded clouds rolled towards the jagged horizon, as familiar a sight now as the Shire’s green hills had once been. Bilbo let out a great sigh of contentment, sitting back in his bench and stretching his feet out before him..

Then he had company.

The bench fit a single hobbit comfortably, and a dwarf beside him just as well. But _two_ dwarves and a hobbit was a payload the bench could not take. He could hear the wood creak perilously as both Dis and Thorin squeezed onto the seat.

“We’ve come to apologize,” Thorin said, reaching for Bilbo’s hand. He let him take it, and gave it a squeeze. “We ought not to have left you to—oh _Mahal_ ” The bench gave a ponderous groan, then broke beneath their combined weight.

“Now we ought to apologize for this as well, _nadad_ ,” Dis said wryly. The three sat in a splintery heap, and it took them far too long to extricate themselves. Bilbo bemoaned the loss of his favorite seat.

But let it not be said that they didn’t make it up to him.

* * *

Later that evening, a fire crackled in the hearth. Around his shoulders Bilbo wore a large, bear-skin lined blanket, another gift from Dis. She had hunted the beast herself, and it was one of Bilbo’s favorites. He wore that and little else, still recovering from an evening spent in bed with Dis. Thorin had come in not ten minutes ago, already washed and dressed for bed.

They sat in a line, bantering and bickering easily. Bilbo was at the back, carefully braiding Thorin’s hair. Dis sat in front of Thorin, the large, grey cat purring in her lap. Thorin and Dis were singing, their voices a rich, beautiful harmony. The sound filled the room to its vaulted ceiling and filled Bilbo’s chest with such overwhelming affection that all he could do was lean forward and kiss Thorin’s back between his shoulder blades.

Pleased with the work he had done on Thorin’s braids, Bilbo slid from the bed and padded around the room, blowing out all of the candles but the ones by the bed. The overlarge blanket dragged along the carpets behind him and pooled around his ankles in a great, black heap. Thorin complained about the light, but he was nearly done and Bilbo knew he would survive.

Once the lighting was low and warm, Bilbo climbed onto the bed. He skirted around Dis and Thorin and wriggled his way under the heavy sheets and blankets. Not long after, Dis pushed in behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest. Last came Thorin, after he blew out the last of the candles. His legs tangled with Bilbo’s, an arm curling beneath him to stroke at the hairs at the nape of Bilbo’s neck.

Dis fell asleep first, snoring softy into Bilbo’s back. He and Thorin stayed up longer, murmuring to each other until the fire grew low and Thorin drifted off. Bilbo listened to the steady breaths of his dwarves in the dark, and he was content.

**Author's Note:**

> Fili and Kili call Thorin " 'nadadith," which translates roughly to "young(er) father." Any other instances of khuzdul are simply the words mother, brother, or sister.


End file.
